"The sheer solidity of The Body's sound seems to erase all thoughts of humanity," writes Robert Whitfield.

It's perhaps fitting that The Body make some of the most physical music around. The sounds they create aren't puny vibrations of air, but huge pummelling blasts of noise that can shatter windows and reanimate the dead - at least that's the impression left by their latest record, I Shall Die Here. What awaits the listener is a brutal record that operates very much in the low-end of the aural spectrum. When the album utilises higher pitched sounds it's often to emit a blood curdling scream, albeit one that's mangled and distorted so you're still not sure if its human in origin.

Such a scream actually opens the record, already creating a sense of unease before huge drums begin pounding a slow, methodical beat, the sort of rhythm you could imagine opening some form of satanic sacrifice. The screams continue almost drowned out by the dull thunder of the drums and crashing cymbals. A guitar, deep and growling like an ancient beast joins the foray. 'To Carry the Seeds of Death Within Me' staggers around like Cthulu has awoken and is crashing through buildings. The song build for three minutes into a blistering assault of the ears until suddenly everything falls apart. The drums clattering, reverberating, as though the magnitude of sound is too much for your primitive hearing to process.

A bass pulses as the screaming continues, white noise rising, consuming everything and then a brief silence. Only four minutes in and The Body have already made it feel as though you've witnessed a bomb blast. Electronics replace the opening salvo of heavy guitars and drums. An electronic drum like the frantic beating of a terrified heart, underscores a soft synthesiser, that grows louder and more menacing in mere seconds. If the opening was cataclysmic, then the second half of 'To Carry the Seeds of Death Within Me' marks the chaotic aftermath. Voices can be heard but their words are meaningless, it's impossible to understand them. There's a man talking, a woman pleading and then that scream - the scream that started it all. The track ends with no resolution and as 'Alone All the Way' begins you quickly realise there will be no chance of escape.

The melancholic monologue that opens 'Alone All the Way' marks a rare appearance of a clear human voice on this record, but it becomes quickly apparent that there is very little humanity left in this man who faces a choice between death and suffering. Whilst the opening track was cataclysmic, 'Alone All the Way's horror feels much more internal. The violent guitars and banshee like wailing conjuring an image of rising chaos in the heart of the man whose voice opens the track. The second half of the track gives way to doomy electronics and whilst Lee Burford's percussion is almost tribal, and only grows more intense as the song progresses. The drums seem to circle around the listener as synthesisers buzz like flies, mocking, disorientating and then a single, almost euphoric, chord marks the end of the song and a silence that seems to hint at a light at the end of the tunnel.

Listening to I Shall Die Here is not an easy experience. The Body's vision of doom metal is exhausting, so relentless is the sheer noise, so few the open, illuminated passages. Even when the guitars and drums are absent the electronic sounds, so violent and industrial, make for truly terrifying soundscapes.

'Hail to Thee, Everlasting Pain' is perhaps the best example of this. Its mid-section consists of menacing pulses and antagonistic beats, coming across like a heavier, darker version of Teeth of the Sea. It builds until those huge, earth shattering drums re-enter the fray, along with distorted radio whines and white noise. 'Hail to Thee' revels in the onslaught; screaming and squealing at you until you can't take any more.

Fortunately it seems as though The Body know exactly how far to take their music, and so whilst the album as a whole can be a daunting listen, the individual tracks tend to be exactly the right length to create an appropriate atmosphere of Lovecraftian horror, before dispensing the listener into an uncomfortable silence. Even the closing track 'Darkness Surrounds Us' avoids feeling too drawn out (though you are stronger than I if you can regularly make it through the album in one sitting) despite being over 9 minutes long.

It is frankly the album's best moment, a truly dense dirge of guitars and percussion. Surprisingly, it also features the records softest, yet most unsettling opening. An ominous ambient passage of swelling chords, scratchy violins, distant voices and the occasional thunder of drums. It's here where the influence of Bobby Krlic (The Haxan Cloak) can be felt - though he's had a hand in the whole of the album, mutilating the individual tracks and adding the electronics. It's a partnership that really excels and helps transform the record from Doom Metal, into something that's harder to classify, yet all the more menacing.

It takes almost four minutes before we properly hear Chip King's guitar or Lee Burford's percussion, and even then they hold back - teasing the apocalypse awaiting the listener at the tail end of the track. When it finally hits, it does so for the briefest of moments. The drums, so powerful that they sound the footsteps of an entire army, pound in to view and out again, passing you by. Whilst the guitar builds slowly, only to reach the zenith and descend into wild feedback. The wailing echo of the guitar closes the album, piercing your ears like the semi-human scream that opened it. The sheer solidity of The Body's sound seems to erase all thoughts of humanity and in the end all we are left with are the machines and the monuments, forgotten relics that in time will be destroyed as well.

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